


Love in a Snow Globe

by TabithaJean



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Family, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 10, Pre-Season/Series 11, The first Christmas after Maggie passes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27940874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabithaJean/pseuds/TabithaJean
Relationships: Dana Scully & William "Bill" Scully Jr., Dana Scully/Tara Scully, Dana Scully/William "Bill" Scully Jr., Fox Mulder & William "Bill" Scully Jr., Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	Love in a Snow Globe

Of course one pinecone in the centerpiece won’t sit right. Everything is almost, _almost_ perfect, from the candles to the carols. The house smells of pot roast and mulled wine, and no one need know the latter is from a strategically placed oil diffuser. Damn this one pinecone: she had followed Marcie Glazebrook’s instructions to the letter. Tara can practically see Marcie’s smirk as she examines the culprit.

‘Looks wonderful, honey,’ Bill says, and she almost knocks over a candelabra. The room shrinks as he surveys it with his Admiral’s precision. She waits for the verdict, wiping sweaty palms on her apron. He points at the centerpiece. ‘What’s happening here?’

‘Oh, it just won’t sit right.’ She pats her hair. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You always do,’ he says, as if good hospitality is the stuff of witchcraft rather than a flair for decorations and knowing when to refill a drink. He holds up two ties. ‘Which one?’

Bill stands tall in his most expensive suit with his father’s cufflinks. Uncertainty hides in the steel of his eyes. He needs someone to pat him on the head and tell him to relax, to assure him that he’s doing a good job. 

‘The red one,’ Tara murmurs, wrapping it around his neck to tie the knot. She can’t seem to summon the energy to properly encourage him: tepid affection is all she can muster. ‘It’s more Christmassy.’

The doorbell rings. Tara pops the gum out of her mouth and sticks the pinecone in place with a wry smile: no one could say she’s not resourceful.

On the porch, Fox stands in a Santa hat and Christmas jumper carrying a stack of presents. Dana is positively elven in a maroon wool dress, making Tara aware of every inch of her middle-aged waistline.

‘Hello, hello! Merry Christmas!’ She ushers them in, bustling with coats and kisses. ‘Matty! Michael! Get down here and help your Uncle Fox!’

Pride flows through Tara like an ocean swell as her big boys let gravity pull them down the stairs. Recently, the vacuum of silence from the absence of her sons has sucked the air out of her lungs. With Matty at college and Michael busy most evenings, she sits in their bedrooms refolding clothes that they no longer need. Having them both at home this week is like stepping into a technicolour Oz. Matty and Michael are all limbs as they hug their aunt and uncle, their long fingers lifting the presents from Fox.

‘Michael, I can’t believe how tall you are now!’ Fox exclaims.

‘Yeah, funny how kids grow isn’t it,’ Michael replies. Tara arches her eyebrow at him. ‘What? It’s been four years. I was just being honest.’

Bill stands formally by the mantel, drink in hand, also wearing a Santa hat. Tara dampens her flare of embarrassment. It’s his family. Let him do what he wants.

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in!’ The ambience she crafted oh-so-carefully is no match for his excited boom. ‘Fox! A man of good taste I see. But I bet yours doesn’t do this!’ He presses a button on the side of his hat, and they hear the tinny sound of ‘White Christmas’.

‘You’re right, Bill, mine doesn’t do that.’ Fox shakes Bill’s hand. Any tension between them stays below the surface these days; a venomous snake which may strike if provoked.

‘Merry Christmas Dana,’ Bill says, bending to kiss his sister’s cheek.

‘Merry Christmas, Bill.’ She gestures towards his still-musical hat. ‘I see you’ve been promoted.’

Tara’s back teeth clench as Bill laughs loudly and hugs his sister. With her hostess smile, she claps her hands.

‘Drinks! What can I get everyone?’

*

In the safety of the kitchen, Tara pours herself a third of a glass of wine and drinks it in two gulps. The first Saturday after Christmas is the Scully tradition: the only expectation Maggie had for Dana and Bill, when he wasn’t stationed overseas. A day when Maggie wouldn’t need to compete with ‘the other side of the family’ for the attention of her children. Which really meant Tara’s side, as Fox doesn’t have any extended family.

With Maggie’s passing in March, Bill had assumed the hosting duties and promptly left the practicalities to Tara. This first Christmas is important. The tradition will fray if they can’t get it right, leaving Bill and Dana to drift further from each other. Tara hadn’t asked for this responsibility. The effort of participating already feels like too much. She looks through the window to the sky. The clouds move urgently, hiding the sun. They move as if they are escaping, as if they know something she doesn’t.

*

Fox and Dana sit marooned in the middle of the couch. There’s ample room on either side of them. His arm rests on the back of the couching, drawing Dana to him. She squeezes against his side with her arms crossed in bemusement rather than combat. Tara notes how his fingers graze Dana’s forearm, and how she doesn’t even notice.

‘Tara, the room looks beautiful,’ Dana says politely, taking her soda water. ‘Did you do all this?’

‘Guilty!’

‘You did this?’ Fox asks. ‘Did you make that arrangement on the coffee table?’

‘It’s really nothing. It’s just a bit of holly and some glue.’

‘I never see _any_ holly creations at our house,’ Fox jokes, looking dolefully at Dana who pokes him in the ribs indignantly. ‘Hey, it’s ok! You’ve always been more one for “slicing and dicing” rather than “things to make and do.”’

‘If you want homemade decorations, Mulder, be my guest. You’ve got a whole forest right outside the front door.’ Tara imagines their versions of Christmas: Fox wouldn’t do much. Maybe a wreath on the door. At her house, Dana might have a few tasteful ornaments from Nieman Marcus, giving pride of place over the fire to the baubles she made with Bill, Charlie and Missy in Sunday School. ‘Really, Tara, you’re very talented.’

Dana’s warmth catches Tara off guard. She’s noticed her sister-in-law usually drinks in a place first, offering herself slowly. Tara places an arm protectively across her middle.

‘She sure is!’ Bill wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek. ‘Now, I might be biased, but there’s no one on this earth who can lay a table like Tara. It’s a real skill, to get all the little details, and she’s got it down.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmurs. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I just have to see to the food.’

*

Tara releases a long, slow breath. She pours herself another third of a glass of wine and drinks it just as quickly. _That’s enough_ , she tells herself as her head swims almost immediately. She rarely drinks at all, but there’s a pressure on her chest that won’t seem to lift. Dread spreads in her stomach as she hears the kitchen door open, and Fox is by her side, placing used glasses on the counter.

‘Oh, you don’t have to do that!’ Tara exclaims, edging him away. ‘Please, go on and visit.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ he says. ‘The boys are playing some video game, and Bill is showing Dana some old photos of their parents.’

Tara smiles to herself. What a good idea of Bill’s, and such a helpful coincidence that the box was right at the foot of his desk so he might think to do just this.

‘That’s good,’ she says. Her cheeks are warm. ‘The sooner the two of them start talking properly, the easier the afternoon will be.’

‘Amen to _that_ ,’ Fox agrees. Tara never knows what to make of him. She certainly can’t call him Mulder. His hair is always either too long or too short, and she suspects that he doesn’t wash his face frequently enough. He doesn’t seem capable of the wrongs accused of him by Bill. Fox is quiet, always waiting for her to speak but she never knows what to say. His intelligence knocks her off kilter. She can’t imagine she holds any interest for him, yet he’s gentle and polite, and for some reason she wants him to like her.

‘Are you sure I can’t help with anything?’

‘Oh stop. It’s just what I do. The world’s a stage and I’m just playing my part.’ The words trip out of her mouth, falling on top of each other. ‘That’s from a play, right?’

‘Shakespeare,’ Fox nods.

‘Shakespeare, yes,’ Tara echoes. His continued presence in her kitchen makes her uneasy.

‘The master of unconventional family dynamics.’

‘Right,’ she says distractedly.

‘How are you all settling back into life over here?’

‘It’s been pretty seamless, thanks to the base,’ Tara replies, resigning herself to having company. ‘Lexington Park seems like a nice place to be stationed. It’s strange without Maggie here, though. Bill misses her so.’

‘It _is_ strange without Maggie. She had a way of smoothing over the edges, didn’t she?’

‘Hmmm.’ Tara is unconvinced. Maggie’s favourite subject was her daughter, and it was obvious from the questions Dana would ask that Maggie didn’t tell her much about Bill. He tried his hardest with Maggie but would come away from visits feeling as if the pieces were all there but put together in the wrong order. The last time they had seen her had been when Bill told her they were moving to Germany. They had left her with tears in her eyes. Unexpected loyalty burns for her husband. ‘You know, Bill is nervous about today. He really wants it to be a success.’

‘Dana feels the same way.’ All by himself, Fox has found her peeler and started on the carrots. ‘She wouldn’t like me telling you this, but she needs her brother. Especially now Maggie’s gone.’

‘The feeling is mutual, believe me. But even after all this time, Bill still doesn’t understand Dana’s decisions,’ Tara says, encouraged by the surprise quid pro quo to reveal more than she should. ‘He also struggles with not being there for Maggie. There’s so much that went unsaid. It’s good that Dana was able to get to her.’

‘They’re very hard on themselves, aren’t they, these Scully kids,’ Fox muses. ‘All living up to invisible and impossible standards. They’re more alike than they think.’

‘You know, I always think of the Scully kids as being like one of my patchwork quilts,’ Tara says. ‘On their own, their patterns are so vibrant and unique that you think they’ll clash when you stitch them together. And they kind of do, except the bigger impression is just colour, texture and togetherness.’

‘Did you know that the reason King Soloman’s magic carpet could fly was because of the dye in its yarn?’ Fox asks, his cadence quickening with enthusiasm. ‘On its own the green and gold yarn was beautiful, but it was only when it was part of a greater whole that its full power was realized.’

‘Magic carpet? But they don't exist.’ Tara is sure there’s meaning to be deduced, but she just wants to get her vegetables into the oven on time.

‘I’m just saying I agree with you: it’s easy to focus on their differences but we shouldn’t neglect the value of togetherness. It’s a neat analogy.’ Without needing to be asked, Fox tips the carrot peelings into the compost bin as Tara turns on the stove.

*

In 1982, Bill had brought nineteen-year-old Tara home for Thanksgiving to meet the family. In her most grown up outfit, she had clutched a bouquet of carnations which was as far as her student finances could stretch. Melissa, delicate in billowing sleeves, was easily affectionate towards Tara. She glossed over Tara’s tendency to speak first and think second; had teased Bill for finding someone out of his league. Dana, quiet and serious at eighteen, excused herself early to study. Cigarette smoke and Kate Bush drifted from her door as Tara walked to the restroom in the early hours of the morning. Even though she was Bill’s partner, Melissa was Tara’s social passport into the family and Dana was her coolest critic.

Melissa’s death shattered the balance. Tara grieved for a sister as much as Bill, Dana and Charlie. Dana was suddenly thrust into the role of Only Daughter, for which she was unprepared and had little training. Without Melissa there to deflect attention, Dana buried herself further and further into work. She would still find it difficult to look Tara in the eyes at family gatherings, and Tara would find it difficult to really care. _Smile and ignore_ , she would tell herself. _Smile and ignore._

*

The selected soundtrack of the afternoon is ‘Carols from Kings College, Cambridge’. It had been such a short flight from Germany to visit her sister in England last year. It’s a poor substitute, but the delicate sopranos make Tara feel like Leanne might be just in the next room rather than three thousand miles away.

‘How is college going, Matty?’ Fox asks.

‘It’s good,’ Matty replies, without further elaboration. 

‘Your aunt tells me you’re considering a science major?’ Dana regularly meets Matty for coffee at Georgetown. Her interest in Tara’s boys is genuine and reliable: Dana is a good aunt.

‘I’m thinking about it…. I’m really enjoying biology so far.’

‘You can do a lot with a science major,’ Dana offers. ‘It’s helpful if you want to keep your options open.’

‘Well, as long as he doesn’t end up becoming a fugitive, then we’ll be fine,’ Bill mutters, terrified of his sons' fascination with their rebellious Aunt Dana. He catches himself, yet his laugh is just a little too late. Dana squares her shoulders ready to front up to her brother when Fox leans across and whispers to her. His hand grasps hers as she relaxes back into her seat. Bill is confused at the speed of the mood change: he’s climbed so high on the professional ladder that no one tells him now when he’s being insufferable. ’Come on, now! It was just a bad joke.’

‘Bill, we’ve heard enough of this CD I think. Would you run to the car and get the other one?’ Tara turns to Fox and Dana. ‘Michael laughs at me for buying CDs, but I like to play them both in the car and in the house.’ And once Bill has left, ‘Dana, I’m so sorry. He really is only joking. He still doesn’t know what to make of it all.’

‘Don’t apologize for him, Mom,’ Matthew snaps. ‘That was so uncalled for.’ Tara sighs. He’s right. Matty has returned from college realising for the first time that the Scully way isn’t the only way. She misses the little boy who hung from their every word.

‘It’s all right, Matty, I know he’s joking.’ Dana’s light voice contrasts her white knuckles. ‘The food is beautiful, Tara, just like everything else.’

‘Oh, please, you must stop saying things like that.’ Tara sees this compliment for what it is: a distraction, a palette cleanser, an empty compliment which has first been measured against the yardstick of Maggie’s food.

The conversation has moved on by the time Bill returns. The inevitability of his faux pas leaves them free to relax into one another, and Bill and Dana meet more as equals in Maggie’s absence. As the last crumbs of dessert are scraped onto their spoons, Bill stands and taps his glass.

‘I’d like to make a toast, if I may,’ he says. ‘Today means a lot to me, and I know it means a lot to you too, Dana.’ Her eyes glisten as she nods. ‘Mom loved Christmas, and she loved getting everyone together as often as she could. It’s up to us to make sure we carry this on. So, here’s to family. May we continue to meet and eat and love.’

‘To family,’ they echo, glasses clinking. As the chatter starts, Bill clears his throat again.

‘Actually, I have something else I’d like to announce.’ A smile spreads across his face as he looks right at Tara. The tightness in her chest expands. She feels like she’s about to jump off the high diving board. ‘I have some news. I’m retiring after the holidays. My last day is in mid-January.’

The descant of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ pierces the pause.

_I’m leaving him._ Tara puts a panicked hand to her hair, her heart suddenly thumping. _What? Don’t speak._ She locks her smile into place.

Dana raises her glass once more. ‘Bill, congratulations! What wonderful news!’

‘Does this mean we can take that fishing trip next summer?’ Matty asks. Tara’s throat constricts in an effort to stave off tears.

‘Of course, son!’ Bill exclaims. ‘Just us boys, the water and the stars.’

‘Oh, Bill, what wonderful news,’ Tara chokes, echoing Dana. There’s another toast, more congratulating. The noise flows around Tara as she keeps her eyes on Bill.

‘Mom? Mom?’ Michael asks. ‘We’re going to play basketball outside, ok?’

‘Sure. Yes.’ She blinks. ‘That’s fine, Michael.’

‘Ok, but you be nice to your Uncle Fox because he’s had three glasses of wine and his motor skills are compromised!’ Fox says loosely, following her three boys outside.

‘Be careful of your back, Mulder,’ Dana warns. ‘No showing off.’

‘Right back at ya, Doc!’

‘That doesn’t make any sense!’

‘ _You_ don’t make any sense!’ Dana laughs as his voice echoes back down the hall. There’s something about her and Fox. Tara stares at her sister-in-law, trying to work out what it is. It’s like they’re in a snow globe, oblivious to the rest of the world, and she wants to shake it to see how they remain unchanged despite the debris landing around them. 

‘Tara? You ok?’ Dana asks.

‘Yes! Yes. Sorry. I’m fine.’ She walks quickly to the kitchen, turning her back on the detritus of the table.

*

Matthew had been born on New Year’s Day 1998, to the hope of a New Year and in the grief for a lost cousin. He carries these two halves with him: he is her positive, sensitive boy. Michael followed fourteen months later, a hurricane of energy and love. Michael would squeeze her tightly and run off to play baseball, whereas Matty would tug her hand to give her a flower but shy away from closer affection.

And then, two years after Michael, Tara miscarried a baby girl. In her most bitter moments, she blamed herself for joining a family which found it notoriously difficult to keep their daughters.

In her late-thirties, Tara experienced the painful self-consciousness of being an object of pity. Well-intentioned, wounding words from the women at church made her realize how unimaginative she herself had been. How trusting that others would see her typical foot-in-mouth as charming instead of ill-considered and lazy. And she saw her husband lived in a similar state of ignorance.

In a cruel reversal of fate, Dana had been seven months pregnant as Tara lost her baby. She had sent flowers and a card with a neat, contained message: _I know there are no words which can reach you right now, but I’m sending my love in the hope that it can._ Despite whatever unrest lay between them, Dana had shown that she knew the exact words. Tara called her one afternoon when the boys were napping, frantically spilling her sorrow down the phone. _You adjust to the weight of absence_ , Dana had said. _This will become your favorite ‘what if.’_

When Dana gave away her son a few months later, Tara couldn’t bring herself to judge. That last Christmas with William, Dana’s face looked bruised from the severity of its shadows. She was being driven towards the edge and didn’t want to take William with her. Bill raged through his pain, and Maggie had sobbed, but Tara stayed quiet. She sent Dana a card. She made sure to call once a month. Until one month, Dana didn’t take the call, and they didn’t see nor hear from her for the next five years.

*

‘Ok, how can I help?’ The slam of the kitchen door startles Tara. ‘And I won’t take no for an answer.’

Tara sighs. Why do they want to come into her kitchen so much?

‘Would you mind drying?’

‘Not at all.’ Dana stands next to her at the sink. Through the window they see Michael steal the ball from Fox. ‘I take it Bill’s news is a surprise?’

Unexpected bitterness twists into Tara’s laugh. ‘Bill makes his own decisions. I wouldn’t have expected him to consult with me on this.’

Dana nods, lips pursed to keep her opinion hidden. 

‘That’s how it’s always been, you see,’ Tara continues, anxious to explain the disrespect. ‘We each take care of our own areas.’

‘And yet he’ll pass comment on your choice of starter but won’t expect you to have an opinion on his retirement.’ For once Tara doesn’t know what to say as they venture into new territory. ‘I know my brother, Tara.’

‘He’s a good man,’ Tara say, and throws her sister-in-law a cease and desist look.

‘He is,’ Dana agrees tightly, avoiding eye contact as she carefully dries Tara’s good china. ‘He’s a good man. Though he’s not an easy man.’ The clink of the plates as they put them away jars Tara’s mind. 

‘You and Fox seem to be doing really well,’ she says, switching the focus of the spotlight.

‘We’re … we’re a work in progress.’ A rare unguarded glimpse behind the curtain reveals happiness in Dana’s smile. ‘We’re doing ok.’

‘Do you think you’ll stay in your place? Or will you move back in?’

‘That’s the question on everyone’s lips, isn’t it?’ Dana blinks and her gaze is suddenly unfocussed. Another blink and she’s back. ‘I don’t know what I’m waiting for, really. I too have a _very_ good man.’

‘And yet it’s scary to take that leap isn’t it.’

‘Yes. Just as scary not to leap, though, wouldn’t you think?’ Dana asks pointedly. They stand side by side in the half light of the afternoon. ‘Mulder is very patient. He’ll let me know if I’m taking too long.’

‘I’ve just realized what it is.’ Tara bites her lip: she hadn’t intended to speak out loud. 

‘What? What ‘what’ is?’

‘Uh, this is going to sound strange,’ Tara pre-empts. ‘But there’s something about you and Fox. It’s always been there, but I was surprised to see it today, even after everything.’

‘Well, every relationship is different,’ Dana says, immediately suspicious. ‘You can’t make a direct comparison.’

‘No, I know. I know that. But you are both _with_ each other.’ She studies her nails, knowing that this moment of trust between them is transitory and delicate. ‘You see, I have these moments that I revisit when I’m anxious or worried. When Matty fell from the tree and Bill spent two days curled up in that plastic hospital chair. Or when Bill got special dispensation to take leave when my mother had her stroke. He and the boys camped in the garden for three days.’ They hear a shout from outside as someone scores. ‘They’re such lovely memories from really hard times. But _I’m_ not in any of them. It’s always Bill and the boys. I’m just …. Not there.’

In a gesture so small, so private, Dana squeezes Tara’s fingers and Tara gulps down a newly acknowledged, yet years-old, anguish at being the invisible partner.

‘I’m just not sure I can stay in a house where there’s no room for me,’ Tara sniffs, trying to keep her voice even. ‘Bill loves me, but I don’t think he _sees_ me. When he retires…. It will just be magnified. I’m sorry, Dana, I shouldn’t talk about your own brother like this.’

‘He may be my brother, but I’m in no position to pass judgement on his marriage,’ Dana assures her.

‘And marriage is a sacrament. I bet there’s a lot of Hail Marys for considering something like this!’ Tara jokes weakly.

‘Yes, it is a sacrament. But don’t you think God would forgive you for trying to be happy? Where’s the sin in that?’

‘Is that what you believe?’ Tara asks, with genuine interest and a fear that she sounds judgmental. ‘Is that what you told yourself when you made your hard choices?’

‘No. No, not exactly.’ Dana studies her hands, her face hidden in the darkening room. ‘I wasn’t trying to be happy, I was trying to keep my loved ones safe. I could have done more for myself. I think that’s why I’m struggling with this final proverbial leap.’

‘I don’t know why I’m reacting this way,’ Tara says quietly. The tightness in her chest is replaced with a heavier, colder feeling in the pit of her stomach. She braces her fingers against her thighs to release some tension. ‘Bill has worked hard. He deserves to retire. I’m being too dramatic.’

‘This is all very new. Take some time to let the dust settle. If you feel the same way in a week, then you can start to consider what it means.’

‘You’re right,’ Tara nods. ‘I know you’re right.’

She turns on the stove light and together they put away the remaining dishes.

‘And if you do need someone to mull things over with… Well, let’s just say that I know what it’s like to wake up and feel like you’re a stranger in your own life.’ Tara sees the intensity in Dana’s face and doesn’t doubt her. She could dedicate a whole scrapbook page to the clarity of Dana’s eyes.

At the end of the afternoon, Fox instinctively steadies Dana as her stiletto boots slip on the ice. She grips his arm, and he pats her hand, heads bent towards each other, and Tara sees that, for them, it doesn’t matter who lives where. Not really. Just before they pull away, Tara runs to the driver’s side.

‘Thank you, Dana,’ Tara says desperately, wanting somehow to acknowledge that this might mark her break from the Scully family. That it might well be the last family event she attends. ‘I appreciate what you said today.’

‘You take care of yourself, Tara,’ Dana’s voice is back to her typical economic self, but there's melancholy to her smile. ‘I’ll give you a call next month. See how you’re getting on.’

Tara nods with the exhaustion of someone who has just been relieved of active duty. 


End file.
